


Release

by OutlawQueenLuvr



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutlawQueenLuvr/pseuds/OutlawQueenLuvr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crying infant, peanut butter-stained sweater, an elastic hair band and Robin and Regina 'relaxing' in the shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release

Regina smiles at Mary Margaret and David as they slowly ease Neal into his stroller and buckle him in. The pudgy-cheeked toddler out like a light and breathing heavily through his stuffed nose. She and her godson had spent the an enjoyable afternoon playing peek-a-boo, building make-believe castles with wooden blocks, reading stories about Giving Trees and a bear named Corduroy, and then he'd had a temper tantrum. One that had Regina clenching her teeth while Neal pitched a fit, refusing to go down for a nap even though she could tell he was absolutely exhausted by the way he was incessantly rubbing his heavy eyelids and sniffling.

Stubborn just like his parents.

It had driven her crazy, made her want to pull her hair out as he wailed and she shushed him, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she rocked him back and forth in her arms, trying to soothe him into slumberland – even if it was so that she could maybe shut her eyes as well. Equally as tired as him, her body aching from the repetitive back and forth motions because every time she tried to sit down, tried to relieve herself just as his crying abated, his cute, little brow scrunched up again and the tears started anew, causing her own eyes to prickle with unshed tears of frustration.

And the worst part was that not one of the tricks or techniques that she remembered from when Henry was in his terrible twos seemed to work on her godson. Not the ice rings for teething (or the colorful, tacky plastic key chain that Mary Margaret packed into Neal's diaper bag). Not singing or humming to him. Not the plush dragon that Emma gave her baby brother for his birthday last month.

No. He wailed, and then he wailed some more. She thought about letting him cry it out, but she couldn't bear to do that to him, couldn't bear the way his tears made her chest hurt and her eyes well up the way it had with her little prince when he was just a newborn.

It was frustrating, her heart had ached for her godson, the way he had worked himself up into a fit of hiccups with snot running from his nose, down the dip above his lip until she wiped it away with a tissue.

An eventful and exhausting afternoon for them both, to say the least, ending with Robin lightly brushing her hair away from her face and whispering for her to wake up. At some point she must have curled up on the couch with Neal and fallen asleep, which she had quietly groaned about upon waking with him on her chest, drool easing its way out of his little pink lips and onto her sweater. His long lashes feathering against his cheeks as his eyes moved behind his lids while he dreamed about whatever it is that fills the dreams of children.

"Let me take him," Robin had said, gently setting down his leather wallet (the one she bought for him, something that he was still getting used to carrying around) and her car keys. He had borrowed her Benz to drive to the Sheriff's station for his shift. She had taught him how to drive months ago, a feat she knows he's quite proud of himself for accomplishing, because it had only taken him a few lessons – and one shouting match that resulted in them not speaking for an evening. Apologies were made, flowers were bought and kisses were given before he mastered the clutch and stick shift.

"Regina?" he had urged, his hand gently rubbing the two-year-old's back. She had nodded, blinking and yawning away some of her exhaustion before he had lifted a conked out Neal out of her warm embrace and into his arms, carefully moving the child's head so it rested against his shoulder, one of Robin's arms beneath the toddler's legs, holding him close to his body. "Do you want to go upstairs and rest? I can watch him until Snow and David get here?" Robin had asked, and she had rolled her eyes, because of course he had offered then. When her tiny terror of a godson was no longer crying or fussing or wailing into her ear (not that any of that had been Robin's fault to begin with, he hadn't even been there. Nor was she sure that she would have wanted him to take Neal from her either. He may have wailed, cried and fussed but he was hers, her family, their family, and no amount of tears or tantrums could make her love him less fiercely).

"I'll wait," she had replied, getting up from the couch and Robin had pressed a kiss to her brow and smirked at the stains on her shirt, to which she had rolled her eyes at him again before saying, "They'll be back soon anyway," glancing at the clock above the mantle place.

And she hadn't been wrong. David and Mary Margaret had arrived right at half past five o'clock.

"You sure you don't want to carry him to his car seat?" Regina asks, wondering why they're strapping her godson into his stroller and not just carrying him to their car parked on the street.

"No, we're going to walk for a while, it's such a beautiful night," Mary Margaret grins, carefully tucking a blanket around her son's legs while Regina frowns thinking about them all out in the cold. It's not bitter like early winter had been, but it isn't exactly warm yet, the first blossoms of spring still a few weeks away, and she's about to say something, but David beats her to it.

"We're meeting Henry and Emma at Granny's for hot chocolate," he says, and oh, yes, that makes sense. It is Emma's weekend with their son and she does remember Henry mentioning cinnamon and whipped cream and hot chocolate with his grandparents earlier today.

"Well, keep him bundled," Regina points at the sleeping toddler. "He has a runny nose, and I fed him soup earlier to help," she doesn't need to mention that she also used an old, herbal remedy to help. It's a draught she makes for herself, Henry, Robin and Roland during every flu season now. A draught she made for Snow on multiple occasions in secret when she was younger – a long time ago when her heart was torn between loving and hating a little girl that she blamed for ruining her life or used to blame, complicated histories healed through love and hope and annoying optimism. "And I don't want all my hard work to go to waste."

The corners of Mary Margaret's mouth edge up into a smile, and she walks over to give Regina a hug, giving her a squeeze while Regina lightly pats her back, leans into the embrace and then shoos her and David away.

Mary Margaret looks back over her shoulder one last time as she and David amble down the walkway and says, "Thank you again, Regina. We owe you," her husband nodding in agreement, still holding back the sassy remark on the tip of his tongue that he had wanted to say when Regina first answered the door.

She's quite the disheveled picture, she's sure. Hair up in a messy ponytail, wisps of it framing her face. Dried peanut butter smeared on the front of her purple cable knit sweater and a purple stain to match on her slim-fitting khaki pants from a juice box that she originally refused to give Neal – too much sugar for someone with perfect, vulnerable, baby teeth – but then she had relented when he looked up at her with those big, sad, puppy dog eyes. She swooned when he had held up his pudgy arms for her to pick him up, for her to hold him, to cuddle, and she caved. She caved to the sweet smell of his blonde, downy hair, his firm but soft grip around her neck. Caved to the way he buried his face there while she kissed the crown of his head. And then he'd reached away from her to his juice box sitting on the counter, and, well.

What's another stain she'll have to clean or magic out?

"It was nothing, dear," Regina assures Mary Margaret, even though, they both know it isn't. It's so much more than nothing, but neither mentions it. They both just wave goodbye, Regina smiling and pushing her front door closed, locking out the cold chill of late winter. The latch quietly clicks in place, and she exhales a long, drawn out sigh, toeing off her flats and bending down to pick them up off the floor.

She pads across the foyer, opens the hallway closet and deposits them there on a shoe rack, exchanging them for a pair of house slippers. Step one to getting more comfortable after a long day. She makes her way into the kitchen next, to the whistling of the kettle and Robin retrieving ceramic cups out of the cupboard for what is most likely tea. Earl Grey with lemon if she knows him well enough, and she does.

She pulls out a stool and sits down at the counter, rolling her head from side to side and stretching out her neck, rubbing at a knot while Robin pours boiling water over two tea bags. He leaves them to steep, wipes his hands on his dark jeans and looks over at her. She smiles and then grimaces when her neck twinges again. Robin turns off the burner and comes over to her, fingers replacing hers, kneading and thumbs rubbing along the nape of her neck, and she relaxes into it, gratefully moans her approval, limbs going boneless and her head hanging forward.

"Better?" he asks, fingers working his own brand of magic and taking care of her tense muscles.

Regina responds with a "hmmm," straightening her spine a little and letting her head fall back on the top of his shoulder, her face angled toward his. He grins down at her, pulls his lower lip into his mouth with his teeth and then his gaze lingers on her lips.

Robin wraps his arms around her middle, gives her a squeeze while she whispers a "thank you" and then he kisses her, chastely at first, just lips coming together before she feels him breathe her in. He touches his forehead to hers and then says, "Come on. A hot shower might be nice, yeah? I'll wash your back. We'll get you out of these clothes." He traces around the edges of the dried peanut butter on her sweater, and she scowls.

Peanut butter. Oil. A sticky, crusted mess that won't easily come out. She'll need to scrape the excess off with a dull knife or a spatula. She could try sponging it out, cover the stain with an absorbent pad dampened with a dry spotter or she could–

Robin twirls a long strand of her hair around his finger that's fallen out of her ponytail, distracting her from thoughts about dry-cleaning solvents and magically enhanced chemicals for stain removal. "I picked up some of that lovely smelling soap last week that you use for your hair. We could use that?"

She agrees, loves the idea of steam and lavender bath salts, shampoo and deep conditioner, of tension washing down the drain and feeling refreshed.

They go together, up the stairs and into her – their – bedroom, Robin walking into the bathroom while she goes into the walk-in closet. She can hear him turning on the shower faucet, water's spray hitting the tile and echoing inside glass walls. She steps out of her slippers, picking them up and setting them next to a twin pair in a cubby before unbuttoning her pants and shimmying them down her slender but toned legs. She'll need to dose them in hydrogen peroxide for the grape juice tainting one of the khaki pant legs, but for now, she folds them up, places them in the hamper and then lifts her sweater up and over her head, turning it right side out again and scratching her nail over the peanut butter there. The oil in it will stain, ruin one of her favorite sweaters if she doesn't use a little magical assistance, she's sure of it, but… she isn't sure she wants to spell it away.

Closing her eyes, Regina thinks of her day spent with Neal, thinks of her tiny godson and his rosy cheeks and cheery disposition, of–

Warm hands coast across her skin and she startles, jumping slightly on instinct, gripping more tightly to her sweater, years of nightmares and dark memories there in the quickening of her heart, past demons rearing their ugly heads until she turns around and meets Robin's apologetic gaze.

"I'm sorry," he says, using the pads of his fingers to brush her long, side-swept bangs away from her face and tucking them behind her ear.

She shakes her head and assures him, "It's alright," but it isn't. Not with him. And she finds that's one of the things she loves most about him, his caring, tender heart, and the way he's tried so terribly hard not to hurt her since they were reunited. Even in the little things. She knows they might, in fact, she knows they will hurt each other. It's unrealistic to think that neither of them will say something or do something that won't hurt the other, even if it isn't intentional. And she also knows that sometimes the hurt will be intentional. She's hot-tempered at times, and stubborn (he equally so), and she's quick to hurt others before they can hurt her first, and that's another reason she adores and respects this honorable father and lover and leader so much.

He's here for her, even at her worst, even at her angriest and most frustrating because he loves all of her, and that's something she's slowly been learning to accept, to believe.

Regina folds her sweater up and places it into the hamper next to her. Her eyes meet Robin's and he steps into her space, his chest barely touching hers, his hands coming up to cup either side of her face. He quickly pecks her on the mouth again, goes to pull back, but she won't let him, skates her hand up his arm to the back of his neck and presses his mouth more fervently to hers. He angles to the right and deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue across her lower lip. He smells like leather and sandalwood and pine, his scruff rough under her thumb as it caresses his jawline, and she thinks that right now – this moment – couldn't be more perfect.

He reaches up and gently pulls out her ponytail, tossing the little elastic band onto one of the shelves where she keeps her jewelry. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches it land on top of her silver triangle pendant, and she bites the inside of her lip, wants terribly to pick it up and put it in its rightful place, but then Robin is combing his fingers through her hair, untangling a few knots; he's deepening his kisses, and she's sighing into him, closing her eyes again and running her other hand up his chest, over fabric, inching it under the shoulder of his vest and trying to help him slip it off.

The little elastic band forgotten.

Robin's fingers come out of her hair, it falls around her shoulders and curls up at the ends.

It's long now, longer than it has been in quite awhile. And she smiles, giggles a bit because she knows how much he loves her hair, and for whatever reason (maybe it's because she's tired, maybe it's because she's nearly naked in just her cream colored lingerie and he's still in his jeans, vest and long-sleeved shirt), she can't stop it, can't stop a bubble of laughter from escaping out of her mouth so she breaks her lips away from his and hides her face in his shirt, her hair hiding the rest of her face from his view.

It's getting easier to feel lighter, to embrace hope and seek good, not entirely without its challenges or annoyances, but it is getting easier to enjoy moments like this one.

"What is it?" Robin hooks his pointer finger under her chin and tilts it up, threading his fingers through her hair again.

"Nothing," Regina beams, her ears tuning back into the sound of the shower, and then she quirks her brow, a glint of playfulness in her eyes and says, "I seem to remember someone promising me a shower."

He chuckles and then helps her shuck off his vest, his shirt soon joining it on the floor, and then his arms come around her, his palms inching down to her ass and pulling her closer to him.

"I did, didn't I?"

"You did."

"Come on then. Roland's with Marian til tomorrow and Henry's…"

"Henry's with Emma." She's nodding her head again and then wincing when her muscles cramp there. "We're meeting them at Granny's tomorrow for lunch. Marian knows she's invited, right?"

He answers while leading her to the bathroom. "Yes, she does, and she's coming. She and Roland will meet us; he's quite excited, already asked for ice cream with his Regina," he laughs. "You should have seen the look on his face."

"He has us all wrapped around his little finger, you know that, right? We'll all need to start saying 'no' eventually."

He laughs again right as they're entering the bathroom, and she smiles almost immediately because he lit candles while she was undressing in their closet, just a few, three on the counter between the his and hers sinks, the mirrors steamed up from the hot spray of the shower.

"He's quite convincing when he wants to be."

She can hear the happy in his voice, the warmth that's probably spreading across his face. It's the same warmth that she feels spreading across hers as she unfastens her bra at the back, easily pulling it off and stepping around him to hang it on the bathroom doorknob.

Her life has changed so much in Storybrooke since she cast the Dark Curse all those decades ago. She has so much of which to be thankful.

A family. A son... sons, Henry and Roland. People who love her and whom she loves, more people than she ever thought she'd have. Emma, Mary Margaret, Robin, David and… Marian.

There are even people she likes, or is starting to like, more than Pongo. There are still people who hold grudges, people who hate her and can't see that she's changing, that she's trying, and she doesn't blame them. She did horrendous things, terrible things, and she knows that she can't take it back, she can't undo all the evil, but she can live every day trying to be better, for the people who've been left behind, for the victims of her cruelty.

She, at least, owes them that.

She slips her fingers under her thong and slides it down and off while Robin unbuckles his belt and shucks off his jeans and the boxer briefs she bought for him just because it was a Tuesday. He leaves them in a pile on the floor, and she gaffs, drops her thong on top of his clothes and walks toward the shower.

That's something else that's different, something else that's changed. She's trying not to hold so tightly onto things, she's trying to relinquish some control, and it has become less painful to do so. She's learning to let her family help, to let them in more often, and Archie had told her releasing that control starts with the small things.

Things like clothes on the floor or shoes not in their rightful places. Things like little elastic hair bands or the peanut butter staining her sweater.

She's learning to let go.

When she opens the glass door to the shower, a wave of steam washes over her, opens up her nostrils and fogs up the room. Robin is right behind her, guiding her further in and tugging the door shut. She steps into the shower stream, warm water flowing over her from head to foot, beating pleasantly against her skin. Regina reaches up and combs her hair away from her face, letting the water naturally drag it back as it streams through it and then down her back. Her eyes are shut again when she hears plastic snapping open, smells a waft of lavender and then feels Robin's fingers massaging her scalp, lathering up her hair and gathering it to one side of her neck.

It's nice, sends tingles down her spine and makes her feel… safe.

Comforted.

Cared for.

Cherished.

He spends a few more minutes washing her hair until the water runs clear, and then he massages her scalp, her neck, her shoulders, easing away tension and the memory of Neal crying in her arms, easing away the ache deep in her shoulder blades, unknotting her back with his magical hands, her skin slick with soap and silky to his touch.

He goes for the loofa next, gently scrubs, inching up and over her shoulder to her collarbone. She angles her head to give him better access, stretches, her back still to his chest. She can feel him against her ass, not quite hard but not soft either, somewhere in between, and it pools butterflies in her stomach, makes her lean into him more as the loofa travels down to the valley between her breasts, lavender suds swirling around her nipples, dusky and perky and humming under his attentions. His focus stays there for a while – one hand low on her belly, fingers splayed, holding her to him while his other hand teases the outside curve of her left breast with the loofa.

It tickles, ever so slightly, but not enough that she wants him to stop.

It makes her squirm, makes her curl her toes and tighten her abdomen in anticipation.

Sensual and loving but innocent, she tells herself. Though, her body already knows where this is going.

The two of them relaxing after a long day, hot water and herbal soap cleaning away grime and sweat.

It feels good. This feels good. Pleasant and calming and so good in fact that Regina doesn't know when her breath started coming out in audible exhales or when Robin replaced the loofa with his palm, dropping the water logged thing on the tile next to their feet. He strokes her nipple with his thumb, slides his other hand further down, down and down some more, skating over her belly and past her navel. He palms her breast, kneads her supple flesh and she moans. Both of them begin breathing a little harder, mouths open. She squints her eyes shut and reaches up and back to thread her fingers through his hair, nails trailing up the nape of his neck.

Robin's cock throbs against her backside and she turns her head, awkwardly pulls his lips down to hers and kisses him as he pinches, plucks, strokes, strums her nipple, drawing a groan from her into his mouth. Regina rubs her thighs together, needing more friction between her legs, needing something against her clit.

And all of a sudden, somewhere between Robin soaping her up and Regina getting wet (a wet that has nothing to do with the water cascading across their skin), their innocent-like shower had become more sexy than showery.

Robin keeps kissing her, parts her legs with his knee and skims his hand down to the small patch of trimmed curls at the apex of her thighs. She sucks in a breath, breaking their kiss, as his fingers reach that spot that makes her hum. He swirls around her clit, rubbing, rubbing, teasing and teasing. Water showering down on them, glass walls completely fogged up, steam filling the whole bathroom now.

Regina buries her face into the crook of Robin's neck to stifle a particularly high-pitched keen as his fingers slide across her. He's driving her mad with want, building up her pleasure at a frustratingly slow pace, trailing opened-mouth kisses up her shoulder to her pulse point behind her ear and then sucking, and his hands, god, his hands. But this angle, her back against his chest, her neck turned just so, it's not comfortable. It aches, irritates her already sore muscles, and he must sense that, he must know, because the next thing he does is stop. He thrums over her clit once more, rubs along her opening, then he… stops, and she whines when he does.

It's the spinning that makes her gasp, his arms wrapping around her back, drifting down to grope her ass and pulling her closer to him. She can feel him, his cock, hard and throbbing and just as ready as she is; and she grins, pulls her lower lip into her mouth.

After that, their movements escalate quickly.

He backs her up against the tiled wall, his breath hot against her neck, nipping roughly at her earlobe, his hands coming up to fondle her breasts, soap foaming between his fingers. She kisses him urgently, feels him spread her legs a little wider apart with his knee again, only this time she has the wall to support her. She moans, arches her body toward him when he holds himself in his palm and teasingly rubs the head of his cock over her clit. She grabs at the back of Robin's neck and pulls him closer, running her nails across his scalp. It isn't smooth; it's clumsy, urgent, but it sends shivers down his spine nonetheless as water cascades over them, heating them up even more, their bodies already burning for each other – an ember sparking to flame. Regina tries to find something to hold onto, something to help her anchor her body so she can grind up against Robin's cock, grind without falling over, grind without trying to grasp at tiles and slim shower ledges so she can brace herself more firmly, but it's no use at this angle, and her body is achingly aware of just how much she wants him.

But she isn't frustrated for long. Robin tangles his fingers in her hair, the feeling of her hot mouth on his lips, spurring him forward, and then he glides both his hands down to her hips, water making it easy and quick, and he spins her so her palms come up to brace on the wall, her ass pressing against him. He leans over her, sliding his hands back up and around to palm and knead and fondle her breasts, caressing his thumbs over her erect and sensitive nipples. His mouth trails to her neck again, and he moves her hair over her shoulder, giving him better access to lick, suck and lavish the freshly exposed skin there.

Regina moans, grinding her ass against Robin desperately. His hand travels down, down, down from her breast, across her belly, back to the trimmed curls between her thighs. He gives a few languid strokes, makes sure she's ready and then positions himself where she's begging for him most, all the while sucking and burning trails over Regina's skin with his tongue. He pushes home, and the sensation that ripples through both of them has them grunting and crying out.

He pumps into her.

Slow at first.

Until they find a rhythm.

Then faster. Harder. More, more, harder harder faster.

Frantic, heated and messy as he slips in and then out of her, in and then out, sheaths himself to the hilt, wet bodies coming together.

Robin lifts her a little more, changing the angle, and Regina gasps his name. He thrusts forward, slamming into her, his fingers rubbing furiously at her clit, mouth on her shoulder forming a hickey where he's sucked a bit too harshly.

She feels herself coming undone, muscles clenching unbearably, a tight coil in her stomach ready to spring. "Oh God– don't stop," she encourages, rocking back to meet his hips as he pounds into her, hitting that bump inside her again and again and again that has her forgetting to breathe. The steam of the shower, the feel of him, ridges and hardness and girth, his fingers never ceasing on her clit, it's all too much, and yes, she sucks in a sharp inhale, oxygen filling her lungs, and oh god, don't stop, there, guh please, feel so good, Robin, uhhh don't sto– love you, I love you yes yes I'm gonna–

And she comes with a strangled cry, fist pounding against the tiled wall in front of her, mouth open, gasping and moaning when Robin doesn't slow his pace, keeps thrusting up and in and harder. Regina goes weak in the knees, legs like jelly, and he has to hoist her up, keeps her standing and straining against him.

"Regina- Oh God, I need to- uhh" and then a guttural groan escapes from deep in Robin's throat, he thrusts, in and then out, in and then out, losing the rhythm he's kept up, hips jerking forward and then stilling as he comes inside her.

He turns her around, pulling her into his arms, and he slides them to the floor, Regina in between Robin's thighs, her back to his chest, her head on his shoulder, a tangle of limbs. Water still running, pooling and mingling with the evidence of their fuck swirling down the shower drain.

They stay like that, beads and streams of water running rivers across their skin, breathing evening out.

Regina angles her face toward Robin, and he nips playfully at her lips, and then mumbles, still trying to catch his breath, "Relaxed now, my love?"

She chuckles, her voice a bit hoarse. "Yes, though I think I'll still be sore tomorrow."

He frowns adorably and then kisses the crown of her head. They sit there for a minute or two more, he's dripping out from between her legs, neither in a hurry to leave the comfort of each others arms, even though the tile isn't all that forgiving on their rear ends. Then, Robin helps Regina stand. They rinse off – this time without anything more than innocent touches – Regina turns off the water and together they leave the shower, drying one another off before heading to the bedroom.

As they're changing into their pajamas, Regina catches Robin watching her as she's staring at the elastic hair band out of place on top of her necklaces.

He picks it up before she can think about it further and opens a drawer where more black elastic bands reside in a container. "You were quite stunning today," he tells her, seemingly out of nowhere, but she knows he's just trying to give her something else to think about so she takes the out.

"When?" she asks, toweling drying her hair.

"Neal. When I came home to the two of you sleeping on the couch."

"Oh?" she says, smiling at him; he grins in return.

"You're wonderful with him; I bet you were incredible with Henry just as you are with Roland," he replies, and something about the way he's looking at her with love in his eyes pauses her hands for a moment, droplets of water dripping off the tips of her hair and onto the carpet.

She wonders for a second what a baby of theirs might look like. His dimples. Maybe her brunette hair. Or his sandy blonde. She wonders what he might say if… if they were going to have another child.

She thinks about it from time to time, when baking with Roland or doing homework with Henry. She thinks about the family they've made, but she's been thinking about it more and more lately, especially because… well… she'll wait a few more weeks before entertaining that thought.

And if she's still suspicious, then she supposes she'll just need to buy one of those stupid, plastic sticks to pee on.

"Thank you," she says and then waves her hand to dry her hair the rest of the way.

Half an hour later when they venture back downstairs and into the kitchen to make dinner, Robin pours out their two cups of tea, long forgotten and cold, and lights up the stove.


End file.
